Enough

I have been rejected by two men in the last couple of months.  I’ve known them for a while and invested quite a bit of myself into our friendships.  I didn’t take either rejection very well.   As I was struggling to get out of my pity party, I reached out to the Relief Society President to ask if there were any women I could provide some service for.   She suggested that I come to our activity the next day which would feature a counselor who would talk to us about “not being enough”. 

I decided to go. 

The counselor asked us to think for a minute and identify the phrase that we tell ourselves.   She gave an example, on her way over she had gone the wrong direction and when she finally realized she was halfway across town and going to be late, and she immediately started the internal dialogue “I’m such a mess”. 

It wasn’t hard for me to identify my phrase.   I’ve been bullying myself with it since these rejections.  She then asked us to identify WHO was really saying it.  And as I thought about it, I came to a STUNNING realization.  This phrase was something my ex-husband had said to me over the years.  It’s a horribly abusive phrase and while the words are different, it’s ultimate meaning is “you are not enough and you never will be to anyone”. 

It’s horrifying to realize how much I have internalized this idea and accepted it.  So I’m starting the process of changing this self perception.  Abuse SUCKS.  

Pained

April of 2018 I wrote a post about envy.  I shared my feelings of envy when I listened to my friends talking about their married lives.   Today I feel distress. 

One of those friends has a husband who makes something for a living.  I have another friend who wants to make that item. So I figured I would introduce them.  I reached out to her to see if we could all get together.  She ignored me.  

I found his Instagram account and noticed a disturbing trend.  It was all about his product—until a few months ago.  And then it was about the half naked women holding the product he makes. 

And combined with a comment someone else made earlier this week, my intuition raised her head (like a hunting dog on full alert).  I thought back and realized that she hadn’t come to church in a long time. Five minutes later I had verbal confirmation. 

And I just ache for her and her family.  And it distresses me how often this happens.  It reminds me of sitting in a support group and seeing another woman I know walk in and thinking “Noooo!  Not her!”  

It’s just distressing and painful and I wish it wasn’t this way. 

Impatient

 "You have a lot of patience."

I've heard this in various forms for several years now.  I'm slightly taken back every time I hear it.  Because I don't feel patient.  In fact, two years ago, I set a goal to cultivate patience.  I wrote it on notes and stuck it everywhere so I would have visual reminders of this goal. 

These last few weeks I've felt particularly impatient.  Impatient with COVID.  Impatient with my love life.  Impatient with my career.  Impatient with my goals.  I want things the way I want them and I want them now. 

I'm impatient with the Lord's timing.  Which is stupid really.  If I trust Him, then I need to trust His timing too.  

When I act on my impatience, REALLY bad things happen.   I've learned THAT at least, so I've stopped acting on it.  It doesn't make the feeling go away though.  The impatience still eats at me. 

So today, instead of acting on it, I have taken a moment to just write about it and acknowledge my infernal impatience.  

                

                                                

Rage

 This morning I had a session with my trauma therapist.  Something triggered me on Sunday (I’m still not sure what it was) and it’s been a rough few days.  But as I worked through things with her, it got to a point where I felt pure rage. (Those words don’t really go together if you think about it). 

It’s been a reeaaalllly long time since I’ve felt such rage. 

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As we talked about what I was feeling in my body the words “giving up” came out, and with them a lot of emotion welled up.  For so long, I fought for my marriage. I fought the addiction.   I fought the addict.   

It’s okay to give up the fight.  I don’t want to ever fight to keep an addict again.  There are better things to fight for.   Like myself.  

Snuffed

This is not going to be a particularly hopeful post 

I was thinking back to the few months after my divorce. Particularly standing in my bathroom and my ex saying that he didn’t recognize me and that I had never been so attractive. 

in that time and place I was happy, at peace, learning new things, making new friends, working through my anger, learning to forgive, and glowing. I truly felt full of light. 

I’m not that person anymore. Somewhere along the way I detoured. I attracted a man who was inappropriate for me in every way and ended up in a bishops court where I was actually shown unbelievable mercy. 

I had a chance to course correct. 

But Pandora’s box was opened.  

In moments of reflection I feel angry and want to blame my ex husband. Because I shouldn’t be in this situation. I should be safely married where I can express affection and intimacy in the only way acceptable to God.  

But in reality I can’t blame him for my inability to live with integrity.  

The light in me is dimming. 

Peculiar

An Heritage #3 got a job for the summer which naturally messes with out of state visitation.  I’ve already established that I don’t do things the socially or even culturally accepted way.  So why start now?  I asked H-er to come spend four weeks with us (with the understanding that we would not be in a relationship and I would not adjust my life in any way to accommodate him). 

He accepted and so for the last couple of weeks, my ex-husband has been living in the spare room in my house.  He has also been going on frequent dates as he tries to find a girlfriend here in Arizona as part if a plan to move down here and be in his children’s lives.  It hasn’t quite gone the way he wanted, and I’ve actually enjoyed teasing him about it a little.  (“why do the women down here ghost me?” and I respond, “well if you wouldn’t put out on the first date….”)

A week ago, he invited me to come to dinner with him and the boys.  I tagged along and mostly was silent listening to them debate about politics for 45 minutes.  When we got home I could sense his anxiety over the conversation (An Heritage #4 didn’t agree with his politics) and suggested a walk around the neighborhood.  An Heritage #4 followed us and eventually we all sat on a bench, and as his parents we took turns asking him questions (what’s your favorite color, who is your best friend, etc).  For 30 minutes he was the center of attention from both of his parents (literally as he sat between us).

True to my warning I have kept to my normal routine and left him to his own devices.

I came home from Yoga last night to find him sitting on the curb in front of the house talking on the phone.  I sat down next to him and he finished his phone call and then he began to tell me about the disaster that is his life – particularly with women. Some of them are having a hard time with the idea that he is staying at his ex-wife’s house. (there’s a host of other issues too that he enumerated).   And then he asked if he could smoke while he talked to me. 

The interesting thing is that he has smoked since day one of our relationship.  But he always did his best to hide it from me.  In 24 years, I had never witnessed him smoking.  Last night I did. 

I also didn’t feel a single drop of attraction to him. 

It’s just interesting that for the first time in his life he is hiding nothing from me.   What a strange place to be. 

Gratitude

I thought I was done.  But apparently, I’m not.  I need to share this beautiful time in my life.

In my first post of this blog I shared that I went to my bishop for help because I hated men.  While the post referenced this being a problem because God is a man, I didn’t mention the real reason I went to the Bishop about this.  You see, I have two sons--and one day they will be men.  You can see the problem there right?

As a child I used to sing a song that went like this:

“When I grow up I want to be a mother
And have a family
One little, two little, three little babies of my own”

I couldn't wait to be a mother and love my children.  Now, the idea that I could hate my sons was horrifying to me.  It went against EVERYTHING I was as a woman.

For the last two weeks I’ve been reeling with grief (mostly I’ve been wrestling with the grief associated with not being able to save my marriage – feelings are feelings no matter how irrational they are).  Both of my boys have noticed my lower spirits and finally An Heritage #3 asked me if I needed a hug.  As my 6’2 son enfolded me in his arms and comforted me, I started sobbing. 

A few days later, the bishop stopped by to release An Heritage #3 as the Teacher’s Quorum President and asked him what he had learned.   I listened to this 16-year-old share that while he had been given authority that didn’t mean he was more important or that he could look down on anyone else and that not only was each boy an important part of the quorum, they needed to FEEL important.

An Heritage #4 casually mentioned he was meeting with the bishop and afterwards I asked how it went.  “I asked him how I could get past the anger I feel towards Dad.”  And a few days later when he finished the Book of Mormon (cover to cover) he decided not to take the reward of a cell phone with data because it wasn’t worth the risks. 

It just makes my heart burst with joy (I’m a complete mess between the tears of grief and the tears of joy these days).   I like my boys.  I can’t wait to see them as men (flaws and all).